Bitter Sage
by T.R. Hunter
Summary: Hawke flees Kirkwall with Anders in tow. They are now hunted men, with few prospects. A trip north seems their best hope. DA2 spoilers, of course.
1. Chapter 1

SPOILERS! If you have not finished DA2, and you hate spoilers, do not read further! On the other hand, if you come back later, that would be lovely…

Chapter 1

We had stopped running. It wouldn't last; a day or two if we were lucky, hours if not. We'd been running for weeks, not feeling safe enough to even pause until we'd crossed the Antivan border.

The inn was large, so we could remain unnoticed and disreputable so that they would rent a small room to needle and pin man and his cowering servant, for that is what we had become.

We sat on the rough floor before a small fire, my back against a chair and my arms around Anders. The lovemaking had been tender—the first time we had been together since the incident. It had not seemed wise to tarry on the road and neither of us were emotionally or physically capable of quick sex just now. I let my fingers trail down his chest counting the ribs that stood out there. The constant running, the sparse fare and a disturbing lack of appetite had taken their toll on his lean frame. Each bone stood proud like the cross braces of a ship in the making, the skin stretch across them rough with the rubbing of coarse cloth.

It was the constant abrasion of dirt and hand weave that caused this pause as much as our exhaustion. We had to rest and treat our blisters and scratches with what herbs Anders had found in the woods or we would simply drop by the road. We could not risk even a small magic, let alone healing, no matter how necessary or how much relief it would bring.

I hated to destroy our tiny idyl, but there would never be a good time to ask the question that had to be asked.

"Why?" I whispered softly. There was no coy questioning of what I meant, no evasion, he simply uncoiled gracefully then reached down for me.

"If we must talk of this, I would do it face to face," he replied as he led me to the rough table that graced our small room. I sat on the stool provided and looked across the table, taking his hand in my mine. It was as emaciated as the rest of him, curled and knobby like the claw of an ancient woman. I looked into those eyes, so full of compassion, trying to ignore the bald scalp above them. That had been part of the disguise too, shaving those blond locks that I so loved to run my fingers through.

We both had beards now as well, Anders' growing in surprisingly quickly and a deep rich red. I was seldom without some beard unless I shaved three times a day and my chin too was now fluffy and my hair a bit longer and much more unkempt. There was no hiding my distinctive eyes or his aquiline nose however, so the proud mage now posed as my mistreated servant and I as a merchant on the margins, keeping our heads down as much as possible. It made me look untrustworthy and costs many sales, which was good since I had not idea where I would replenish my stock when it was gone. We had acquired our wares from a dead merchant lying in the road not far outside the Kirkwall city gates. Apparently bandits weren't interested in needles and thread.

If anyone wondered why a trader as lowly as I apparently was would keep a servant, they probably figured it was for the joy I got from abusing him. I hated that part of our play acting, but it was effective. There were too many looking for us now that the bounty had been posted, but those looking for two strong men would not take a second glance at this seller of sewing notions and his cringing shadow.

I looked down as I rubbed his hand between mine before looking back up and waiting for him to begin. Without preamble he said, "It had to be done. You know that as well as I. Not that exactly perhaps, but things were getting worse and, well, all action was too one sided. The Templars and their mad Meredith woud have had us all dead or Tranquil within a fortnight. I didn't want to be the one, but no one else was volunteering." He smiled that crooked smile and I felt my heart break a bit more.

"But you had planned months in advance," I challenged.

He nodded sadly, "Yes. I could see the way things were going. I had planned, but I never intended to follow up. It was a last stand, a totally desperate act, and not one I expected to survive. That I had the means in place just shows how long things had been going to the dogs."

I looked down again, I couldn't meet his eyes as much as I understood. "And the Chantry is the source of it all?" I asked. "That's why you struck there?"

He raised my chin and stroked my cheek before saying, "It was the only target that would have enough impact to shake people out of their blindness. We killed how many desperate souls who had turned to blood magic? And didn't I do my part? They were, at heart, more innocent than anyone in the Chantry. They were never given a choice, ripped from their homes as children and put under tyrannical rule. And the Chantry…" he stared over my shoulder, his thoughts distant as he continued, "It was when I took the evidence of what Alaric had done to Elthina that I realized nothing good would come from the Chantry. She was concerned about his death. His death! Not about all of the children that he had abused or the mages, mages who had passed their harrowing in many cases, that he had made Tranquil. She could not, did not even bother to deny that she knew his intentions—he had told her of them himself. And if I could notice the increase in the Tranquil from my infrequent visits to the Gallows Courtyard… well… It became apparent that the Chantry and the Templars game was to withhold official sanction while condoning the act."

It was my turn to nod. I knew it all, I had reasoned it out exactly the same way, but I had to hear it from his lips.

"Was it worth it?" I asked.

"Nothing would be worth it, and nothing can be changed," he said. "I did what I had to do. That I live is a surprise, whether it becomes a blessing or a torment we've yet to see. If I am sorry for anything, it is what I've reduced you to. To prevent that…"

I stopped him with a finger to his lips. "No. You did what you had to do, the only one brave enough to do it. It is enough. It would have all come apart in the end, but now, at least, there is some chance that things may come out better rather than continuing down the path of destruction. You lanced the boil that had become Kirkwall. It is painful, but it now may heal cleanly."

"Or not," he answered. I could only nod. Yes, perhaps it had all been for nothing. Odds were things would not change or would change for the worse. But what was done was done, survival was all that mattered now.


	2. Chapter 2

We slept soundly, not having to keep watch and utterly exhausted. The chance to talk last night had relieved much of the tension between us. I rolled over to find Anders starting at me, his head tipped in thought.

"Good morning Peregrin!" he said with more cheer than I'd heard in months. The name was my new alias, perhaps too close to my real name—we had argued about that—but one I could remember at least. He was now Einws. We used the names even when we spoke to each other in private, for fear of being overhead and to prevent misspeaking in public.

Today, if things seemed relatively safe, if the watchers were not too many, we would try to find a shop where we could buy more rickrack and tailors' chalk and the other many bits and pieces that now made up my stock. When we had first found the neat display case I'd had no idea what many of the items were. Fortunately it seemed that sewing was one of the ways that Anders passed those long days in the Chantry between escapes and he was able to tell me enough to made my ruse convincing.

Since he knew so much more of these matters than I, I had argued that he should be the merchant and I the servant, but he had literally begun to shake at the suggestion. It was then that I realized how really frightened he was and how long he had been so. I had never known him when he had not been hunted by the Templars, and we had been together many years now. If it gave him small comfort to huddle in his ragged cloak and cringe, hiding his face, when we were in public it was not something I would deny him.

As we dressed, savoring the time to do it slowly and carefully, our clothes not clean but the best we could make them with rubbing and brushing, he asked, "Did I ever tell you about when I first discovered I had magic?"

I looked up in surprise. No, he hadn't, had talked little of his past. I knew he had been a Grey Warden, bore the taint, and had fought with the Wardens in Amaranthine, but beyond that he had not talked of his past and I had not asked.

He smiled and began his tale. "I was tiny really, barely old enough to remember. Five? Six? I grew up in a small village of no note, poor but children don't really think of such things, do they? My father was an assistant to the town farrier and my mother cleaned for those who could not afford full time servants. I liked being around the horses when my father was working. Often I would be paid a copper to hold some mount while it waited its turn. They are fine creatures, horses, patient and kind. Think of being that large, having that much power, but still willing to serve frail beings like ourselves."

He realized that he had drifted and brought himself back to the story with a bit of a start. "They loved each other, my parents, and they loved me since I was their only child after many years of marriage. I even had a grandmother alive and I was the light of her life and she of mine. It was she who taught be to sew, assuring me that it was as useful a skill for a boy as for a girl, and so it was proven." I winced at the pun and he laughed. It was weak, but it was a laugh, and a beautiful thing to hear.

"I was just a boy, perhaps a bit more wild than most, but nothing exceptional. It was when I way playing in the street one day that it happened. One of the tabbies that kept mice from the grain had had a batch of kittens not long before. They were just beginning to explore on their own, still wobbly and unsure except for one brave fellow. He came bounding out from under the porch and ran past me directly under the wheel of a passing cart. I don't remember much of what happened next, only holding the poor broken thing and listening to it scream in its high kittenish voice. Somehow there in my hands it mended, its broken bones coming together, its pain eased, and it began to purr. When I looked up there were several villagers gathered round me all staring at the cat they were sure was dead.

"After that they would come to me, or bring their children or their animals, and I would heal them. It seemed, to all of us I think, a blessing from the Maker. I was never happier than when I could help someone in this way and it was a great relief to the villagers who's occupations resulted in many painful injuries.

"How the Templars got word I will never know. No travelers came through that village, few merchants bothered with a population so poor, but find me they did, and quickly. It was only a few months later when the large mounted men in armor came. They literally snatched me off the street. I was not given time to say goodbye, to grab a last memento, to tell my grandmother that I loved her. That was my last memory of the village as a looked over a mailed shoulder, of my grandmother waving goodbye."

I didn't know what to say, so I busied myself putting everything is my sales kit in order. I'd known, of course, that mages were taken from their families as soon as they were identified, but it had always been a bit abstract to me. To hear this personal tale, and not the tale of just anyone, but of Anders who had given up everything, wrongheaded or not, to free his fellows. The man had only wanted what he had loved as a boy, to heal those in need. Was that such a horrible thing? A reason to hound him to so very near the point of madness?

As we headed down the steep staircase he pulled his ragged cloak over his head and hunched to half his height. I closed my eyes trying to assume my character of struggling salesman.


	3. Chapter 3

**[Sex in this chapter, so over 18 only please. If you're not 18, go write your own story instead. It's fun and in **_**your**_** story your characters can do whatever you want them to, but this one is adults only.]**

The market was crowded, to my relief. We were much less conspicuous when surrounded by other merchants. It had been pure luck that it was a day when foodstuffs and wares were brought in from the surrounding countryside.

I had two goals for the day: to replenish my store of needles, pins and other sewing notions so that I could keep up the ruse, and to find some link with the famous Crows of Antiva. We were criminals now in the eyes of the world, so who better to petition for help than the most notorious criminal syndicate in Thedas?

We found a shop with our sort of goods and I began negotiations, wishing that I had a better sense of the value, and in some cases even the use, of the various items displayed. The shopkeep was suspicious of us, thinking that we were competition, which was fair enough. Smiling and holding out my hands in what I hoped was a disarming gesture, I swore to him an oath that we were heading north on the morrow and that I would sell nothing until we were a day's travel away from his territory.

He grudgingly gave me a discount for quantity, but would have cheated me on some linen thread of poor quality if Anders had not spoken up. More than anything, more than being hunted, on the road, tired, dirty, my future uncertain, more than any of that, I hated what I did next, but it was necessary for our characters, and our characters were necessary for survival. I struck Anders, hard enough to be convincing, for speaking out of turn, then, when he fell, I kicked him, my foot making a solid thump against his ribs. Each time we played a scene like this, a bit of me died, but we had discussed it at length, Anders being the one who absolutely insisted on its necessity. That it was unbelievable to anyone who knew us that I would be capable of such a thing was exactly its strength. And that Peregrin, the destitute needle and pin man, was so brutal to his servant had created a reputation for us. One that we hoped would cause any Templar hunters to continue pass us by, as they had on many occasions so far.

Luck was with me that day, as much as any day in those bitter times, and I heard a rumor of a Crow assassin in the village. Unlike common criminals, the Crows often made themselves known, the mere intimidation of their presence sometimes making more messy action unnecessary. I was more surprised to find that she was said to be staying at the same poor inn we occupied then to hear word of a Crow openly bandied about the market.

We returned to our room, our supplies restocked, to share a bit of hard cheese and a crust of harder bread that a pitying baker had let us have for a copper. I thought of the estate I had left, the wine cellar well stocked, the larder always full, as I encouraged Anders to take just a bit more cheese, just another bite of bread. If he didn't start eating, he would not last, and if he did not last, I knew neither would I. He was as much a part of me now as Justice was a part of him. If Anders succumbed, all three of us were doomed.

As we ate, he again brought up my plan to contact the Crows, the argument made fresh by our latest information.

He started as he usually did, claiming that our current existence was tolerable, saying, "We can go north. Yes, that makes sense. The further from, well, anywhere, the better. Perhaps we could make it all the way to Rivain. We've come so far already. And it really isn't that bad, is it? Trading?"

I don't know why this time, of the many times that we had had the conversation, that I snapped. Perhaps it was my awareness of our dwindling resources. Perhaps it was the nearness of that Crow. I put my hand over his and squeezed harder than I intended, watching him wince. "We cannot continue to be unsuccessful merchants and still eat. I've kept this from you, but now you must know. Almost every deal we've made since we started to buy goods to replenish our stock has cost us rather than profited us. You are not blind, damn it, you must have seen this! I don't know how real merchants do it, but I am no merchant and I've been dipping steadily into our reserves and I am worried…"

I trailed off, feeling guilty. Guilty for not sharing this earlier and guilty for the harsh accusatory tone I had adopted. It was hardly Anders' fault that I was a piss poor trader, but his willful blindness and forced optimism had worn me down.

He turned his hand under mine so that we could grasp palm to palm, and said consolingly, "I am sorry. Of course, I should have known, I just didn't want to know. I'm afraid that I was indulging in a fantasy, one of us becoming successful merchants and living a quiet domesticated life in some small city. Foolish of me. Please forgive."

It was what I loved so about Anders and what made me sometimes want to strangle him, this empathy and humility. His willingness, unlike so many others I had known, to admit his own faults. The man had no ego, was happy to live his life and to give to others without feeling a need to defend or justify. I took his cheeks between my hands and kissed him tenderly, whispering, "The fault is mine, all mine. There is nothing in you to forgive. I am sorry. I should never have…"

He cut me off with another kiss, which lead to another. We stood on our opposite sides of the table without breaking our clench and stumbled like some clumsy beast to the narrow straw mattressed bed.

I pulled up his tattered robe, delighted to find him hard and proud. That part of him at least had not changed, and the brief rest had given us both a hunger that travel had blunted. I cupped the treasure of him between my hands and blew softly, charmed to see the rigid staff bounce in anticipation. My tongue snaked out, pointed and eager, to lap at his dark head then run down the length until I buried my mouth in the blond curls at the base. This small part of his glorious golden hair, at least, was still available for my enjoyment.

Using only my mouth, careful of my teeth, I took first one ball then the other fully in, savoring their heaviness and rolling them about, sweeter to me than any candy. As my mouth was busy, my hand grasped his rod, squeezing from root to tip, then back, thumbing the end, working each finger independently.

It was not long before he was pulling at my hair, thrashing, begging me to enter him, so much like old times that I wanted to cry in the midst of my joy. In Kirkwall we had a selection of scented oils and gels for lubrication, now I was reduced to spit, but at the moment grateful for even that. I threw my robe over my head as Anders pushed himself up against the headboard and curled his legs almost to his shoulders. Of all things, he liked to watch the most, as I disappeared within him.

I hesitated, wanting to extend the tease, pushing my cock into that fine sensitive space between balls and the hole that was my ultimate goal, pulling it up to poke and nuzzle the golden sack. He moaned an begged and threatened until I gave in, as we both knew I would. For me, the first entry, that moment when I breached his defenses, was almost as sweet as the climax. I had developed many techniques from coy to violent. It was a small sort of role playing that we did and made the act that bit more delicious. I paused, thinking for a moment, and decided that this time I would be the unstoppable force. Adding a bit more spit, placing myself carefully, I pushed with the strength of my hips and legs, not quickly, but powerfully, driving myself into him steadily without withdrawing until I was buried my full length.

The ploy had the desired result, as it always did, but it was not something we tired of. I watched as first his eyes, then his mouth grew wide and before I could move further he had grabbed my head and was doing his best to consume me, starting with my tongue.

I don't remember much after that until I awoke on the floor, the bed broken, the bedclothes strewn about the room and an irate landlord pounding on our door. Anders was half on the shattered bed, oblivious, his expression blissful.

I quickly rose and threw my robe over my nakedness, then went to the door before our host found someone to knock it down. Opening it as little as possible, I reached into my marsupium and withdrew our last gold sovereign. As the innkeep held out a greedy paw, I pulled back, catching him by the ragged collar of his jerkin and hissing, "I will pay, more than it is worth, for your silence as well as for the damage. If any, and I mean any, gossip or rumors about what went on today should be spread about, I will be back and take more than this sovereign back in compensation. Do you understand me?"

It was a calculated risk, showing my strength like that, but I had not misjudged my man. His greed overpowered any other concern, and he croaked, "Yes, yes, very well, I understand, now give." I handed over the gold, thinking about the upbraiding I would receive from Anders for my precipitate action. I wasn't sure myself if it was the right move, but we really couldn't afford to have the whole village in an uproar over some noise and a broken bed.

When I softly closed the door and turned, I was relieved to see Anders still sleeping, more deeply than he had since the event that led us to flee, and probably for months before that. He had a broad smile on his face and looked very young, very vulnerable, despite his shaved head. Had I had any residual belief left in the Chantry's Maker, it would have been shattered in that moment. My gentle mage, healer, champion of his people, forced to run and starve. I sat at the table, my head in my hand, and wept, wondering what we would do when the money finally ran out.


	4. Chapter 4

When I was done with my maudlin self-indulgence, I woke Anders. I hated to interrupt that peaceful sleep, but we had to leave in the morning and I wanted to contact that Crow before we did. I couldn't leave without telling him, a note would not do. I had done that once when we were camped, planning to go off by myself and think. When I returned a few hours later, he was hidden in a bramble, curled up on himself, shaking. It took me several minutes to pull him out of it, to convince him I really was me and that he was safe. From that time on, I never left his side without telling him exactly where I was going and when I would be back.

It was another painful reminder of how changed our circumstances were. In Kirkwall, our relationship had been quite free. If we were faithful, it was by choice, not coercion. Anders had been happy to have me go off drinking with Fenris and Varric while he haunted the library, dined with Aveline, or, in the early days, visited the Qunari. He had made particular friends with the Arishok—something that amused me at the time and pained me when I had been forced to kill the Qunari leader. He had not spoken to me for a week after that, even though he knew it was not my choice.

Now it was not jealousy, but fear, that made him cling. His shattered nerves made it difficult for him to be alone and absolutely necessary that he know exactly when I would return. This was difficult for me; I had always been unwilling to commit my time, enjoying spontaneity, taking off at a moment's notice. But no more.

I sat beside him and stroked his cheek until his eyes fluttered, looking up at me with the residue of the peace he had known in sleep. Bending to kiss him softly, I said, "I must go. See if I can find that Crow. It is too good an opportunity to pass up."

He nodded sadly, clutching at the front of my robe for a moment. "I understand," he said. "I will wait." I could tell how much he wanted to ask exactly how long I would be gone, but he could not. It was an odd thing, as if in not asking he was able to deny this new weakness.

"I will be gone no more than two hours," I said. "If I have not succeeded in that time, I will come back to check on you. See, I am turning the glass now." It may have seemed a silly expenditure, that oak bound hourglass that we'd bought after the first time I had left him, but it gave him great comfort and that made it priceless. I knew that he would sit and watch the sand through the first hour, waiting until the last grain hand filtered to the bottom, then turn it carefully. It was more complex for me, but I had always been blessed with a rather uncanny awareness of the passage of time. I made sure that I always told him longer than I expected to be gone and that I returned before I thought the time was up. So far, all had been well. I dreaded the day that I would be delayed.

I made my way down the stairs and into the public part of the tavern. I didn't have the funds to spend on ale, but I needed a drink badly and also an excuse to join in the gossip. A mug of best bitters in hand, I sat at the only free spot at the most crowded table. I knew how to be amusing company in bars, knew all the jokes, stories that were short and exciting or funny, and soon my tankard was refilled, not at my expense.

I didn't want to introduce the subject of the Crow if someone else could be manipulated to do so, or if luck brought it up instead. As it turned out, I didn't have to settle for gossip. I was in mid-sentence of the rather clever denouement of the story I was telling when everyone else in the room fell silent. It is always startling how loud one's voice it when everyone else in a noisy room stops talking. My explanatory, "…an ass…" hung in the air. The figure that strode up to our table could have been a man or a slim woman, clad in tight black, the face shadowed by a deep hood.

A space had been cleared on the bench beside me as if by magic. It seemed that my companions of a moment before had simply evaporated. The dark figure threw back the hood and sat next to me. A woman and no doubt the Crow I had been seeking. No wonder they had the reputation they did. The entrance had been dramatic in the extreme and it was clear that I was the only one in the tavern not trying very hard to be ignored. Two new cups were placed before us, these larger and made of porcelain rather than leather. Studying the sharp cheek boned face of my new seat mate, I sipped, noting that the ale was of higher quality than I had been served earlier.

"You were looking for me," she purred. I stared at her, astonished. I had mentioned to no one except Anders my plan to contact the Crows and I was very sure he would speak to no one, about anything, let alone this. Laughing musically, she said, "Do not be surprised. It is what we do. Every word that was spoken between you, I know. And anything else that might interest me as well. There are those who, um, prefer to keep us informed of all that transpires in Antiva, and that especially includes strange visitors from Kirkwall these days. But perhaps you would be more comfortable if we spoke in private?"

She had just told me that there was no privacy in Antiva, so this seemed a bit of a strange offer, but perhaps there was privacy to be found in the company of Crows. In any event, I was much too conspicuous sitting here talking with her, so I nodded.

She rose, made a graceful gesture to the barkeep, and preceded me up the stairs, not glancing back to see if I followed and quite content to turn her back to me. I had no illusions; experienced that I am, I was sure that if I made any move toward anything that might be a weapon, I would be dead before I hit the floor, and not necessarily at her hand. It suddenly seemed that all of Antiva was an ally to the Crows.

The suite that she led me to was not one I would have expected to find in this humble inn. It took up almost the entire third story and was sumptuously appointed. There were hangings of rich deep violet velvet and gold worked brocade. The furniture was chairs and sofa rather than the ubiquitous three legged stools and benches. There were lamps everywhere, a table of oak, a large desk and shelves filled with leather bound books. A fire roared in the large hearth and she led me to the warm inglenook, indicating that I should sit, before retrieving brandy in crystal goblets.

I took the glass and held it to the light, whirling the golden liquid and then inhaling the intoxicating fumes. At this, the dark woman laughed, saying, "You should be more cautious, Ser Hawke. That was as good a give away as if you had a placard about your neck."

My heart stopped as I stared at her, realizing what I had just done. No ragtag merchant would now how to appreciate fine cognac, would probably not ever had seen, let alone tasted, it. Such a simple thing, because I had been put back in surroundings where I felt at home. And so stupid.

My plans for meeting the Crows where not firm, since I could not know when, where or whom I would finally find, but in my mind I had assumed there would be a chance to make preliminary overtures before I revealed myself.

Before sitting, the woman went to the desk and brought a gold encrusted hourglass, which she turned and sat near us. "That should ease your mind. You will know in this way when to check on your skittish companion."

She spoke the common tongue, but in a lyrical lilting accent that I found more than a little attractive. That she knew about Anders could not be a surprise after all that she had already revealed.

She sat across from me, casually leaning back, her long legs crossed like a man's. We sat like that, silent, drinking, until almost a quarter of the sand had run through the glass. Finally I said, "You know who I am. Do you know what I want?"

She raised an eyebrow, and returned, "Do you? Know what you want, that is?"

"Sanctuary, shelter, sustenance and to be useful," I replied. "For me and for my companion. If you know who we are, then you know that we are sought by, well it seems almost all of Thedas, certainly all parts controlled by the Chantry."

She nodded, looking off to her right where another black clad figure had appeared. The new arrival stood, leaning against the arch and cleaning his nails with a wicked looking dagger. The Crow asked, "And why should I not simply recover the bounty on you _Champion of Kirkwall_?" The title, which I had always abhorred, was said with such contempt that I cringed.

She continued, "And I believe the bounty on your _companion_ is even higher."

What had I walked into? Had I just given up our freedom for nothing, and without a fight? At least not a fight where I could hope to prevail. Oh Anders, you should have gone off by yourself, nothing could be as bad as being in my foolish company.

Looking calmer than I felt, a talent that I had perfected long ago, I said, "Skills. We have them. If you know who my companion is, then you know that he is a powerful healer, more powerful than any mage who has been exclusively confined to the Circle or always been an apostate. He has the knowledge of both worlds, refined over years of practice. Surely even the invincible Crows occasionally have need of a healer? And he could train others.

"I am obviously too old to be trained as a Crow, but I too have skills that I could impart to to your, um, recruits is it?" I well knew that the organization bought as many as they hired, and I couldn't help the small jab.

"I earned my reputation, and stayed alive, by developing ways of fighting unknown to assassins or to warriors. These could be yours."

That was it, all I had to offer. I had nothing to bargain with and nothing in reserve. If this Crow decided that I was worth more in coin than in skill, my fate, as they say, was sealed.

She rose without a word, gesturing to her associate and walking out of eyesight. I heard a door softly close and watched the sand in the hourglass as I knew Anders must be watching the one back in our room.

The sand was more then half spent when she returned. She poured herself another glass, refilling mine as well, and sat. The sand was gathered into the narrow part of the top of the glass before she spoke.

"Your offer is not without merit and it is not my decision to make. Go to Antiva City. If you make it there without being apprehended or killed, you will be contacted. From that point…" she shrugged, stood and took my goblet, and tapped the almost empty hourglass.

Glad to at least be alive, I made my way back to the room, happy to see that Anders' glass still had a quarter sand. He came to me and placed his head on my shoulder, his hand clasping my back, his distress evident. He didn't ask then about my encounter with the Crow, or even if I had met her, he was just relieved to have me back where he could see me and touch me. I held him firmly, but gently, this man more precious to me than riches, or life itself.


	5. Chapter 5

As we left the inn, the landlord came running, pressing on me the sovereign, the silver I had paid for our two nights stay and a few coppers. He said, "Please take this, please, and if you are ever this way again, drink, food, lodging, women," he looked at us slyly, "men, all yours, no charge, please, just take it."

When we were safely on the road, Anders stopped me, eyebrow raised and on his face the quizzical expression that I had see all too seldom of late. "What was that all about?" he asked.

"It seems that we may be of some use to the Crows after all, although my contact last night could not confirm that they would shelter us, neither did she take us in for the bounty. If we can make our own way to Antiva City, it appears that they will contact us, and then a decision will be made."

He smiled. A real smile, and it seemed that the world opened for me. We were on the road, still poor, although richer than last night, still hunted, but there was hope. Perhaps we were walking to our doom, but, and to desperate men it was a very big but, perhaps not. For the first time since we had sat out, we had hope. As we trudged along, I sang a ballad, one that we had enjoyed many times back in Kirkwall, back in the Hanged Man, a lifetime ago.

Anders laid a hand on my arm, asking, "Do you think we should be more quiet? Try to pass unnoticed?"

I laughed loudly and replied, "My friend, we have been under the Crows scrutiny for I don't know how long. I have no doubt that we will be challenged before we reach our destination, but it won't be by chance, and it won't be my singing that alerts our attackers. I don't know if it will be Templars or Crows or demons, but I know whatever we encounter will have been engineered by the Crows and that they will be watching. So join me in song, my friend. As we have so many times before, we face death. We might as well sing."

His sweet alto joined my deep tenor and we marched toward our destiny. It was not so different, really, than the many times before that we had faced impossible odds, and I realized how much the uncertainty of our goal had demoralized us both. Now that we knew where we were heading, if not exactly what awaited us there, we both took hope and were much the stronger for it.

When the last refrain trailed off, I said, "When we encounter whatever we encounter, there is no reason to hide your magic. Quite the opposite. We are no longer hiding. The Crows run Antiva and the Crows know exactly who and what we are. So show off, if you will. Fire and flash and brimstone and ice. Make it spectacular, for I believe this journey to be very much an evaluation of our skills. Oh, and I have this rash, right between my shoulder blades…"

He laughed. He laughed… and it was the sweetest sound I ever heard. A true laugh. Anders as he was, had been, would, whatever gods there were willing, continue to be. He waved his hand, a ball of energy appeared, and the rash, which was real and remarkably annoying, was gone.

He stopped me then, his face grave. I would have given anything to have that laugh back. He said, "I have not been honest with you. It is unforgivable and I am sorry."

I couldn't even imagine what was to follow. If Anders, after all of this, had deceived me… but what could he possibly have deceived me about? My head spun with possibilities and I was almost hopping in place with anxiety.

"After he, after I," he continued. "After I blew up the Chantry, Justice left me. He just… left. I'm not sure where he went, or how it works, but it seems that he had achieved his purpose and he's… gone. I'm afraid that it left me fragile, confused, cowardly. People talk about having a piece of themselves ripped away, but they cannot imagine what it is like when it really happens. We had been together for years and he was as much a part of me as any other part, then he wasn't there. It left me empty… and vulnerable… and not being able to use my magic for fear of capture, left me, well, somewhat less than myself. You have been more than kind. More than understanding. I should have said something earlier, but I was afraid. I don't know afraid of what, certainly not of you, but just afraid. I don't know if you can forgive me. If not, I understand. But… I always did and will always love you."

I stood there in the road, just looking at him. An oxcart with a grumpy miller passed us, running up on the grassy verge to not run us down. Anders without Justice. Anders as I had never known him, only the man, not the man and… whatever Justice really was. It was as if your lover suddenly turned into someone else. Someone familiar, someone, perhaps, that you felt affection for, but not the same person. I realized that my mouth was hanging open when an errant fly entered, buzzing. I snapped it shut and spit out the fly, which happily went about its business.

I gestured to the woods, where a comfortable fallen log beckoned, out of the glare of the noonday sun. Searching for time, I handed over my water flask, then took a deep gulp myself. I finally admitted, "I don't know what to say. I have only known you as Anders and Justice. I… well… I don't know who you are without him." I wanted to be more reassuring, to tell him that I to would always love him. But how could I when I didn't know who he was? And I realized how much this explained about his need to be always near me of late. To have been abandoned on a level I could not fathom… it must leave a great empty space and a great fear.

"Tell me about what you were like before you made that bargain?" I asked. If perhaps I could know that, then, well, maybe I could bridge the fathoms wide gap that seemed to lay before me.

His mouth quirked as he replied, "Well, I was funnier. More relaxed. Much much more self centered. And angrier than I am today. I think, when Justice left, he took much of my anger with him. The me before, I only wanted to be free of the Circle, at all costs, including the early death assured by the taint of the Wardens. Other mages to me were weak souls without self direction, willing to be herded like sheep. It was Justice that instilled in me that caring for others that, alas, you seem to value. I'm sorry. That part is not me. The part that was, is, me is less worthy. It was my hatred of the Templars who had hunted me, a blind and vicious hatred, that perverted Justice, made him Vengeance. So, you see, the good parts were him, and now all that's left are the bad parts that are me.

"I have been terrified that you will leave me. How could you not? That's why I haven't said. But I can't let you go forward, now that there is hope, without knowing. If you want to leave, I'll understand."

I had no words, barely even thoughts, and those confused. The love of my life, the man I had sacrificed, very literally, everything for, was not who I had thought him to be. Perhaps it had been Justice that I had loved all along? Standing, I said, "Come. I need to walk. To think. I can't talk now. Not yet. I need to move." Movement had always been a balm and a blessing to me. I strode off, not waiting to see if he followed.


	6. Chapter 6

Anders caught up, but walked several paces behind me, giving me the space to think. Finally he called out, "I can't keep up this pace. If you're going to leave me, let me know, but in either case, I need a rest."

The guilt slammed into me. He was weak and troubled, had hardly been eating or sleeping, and I was marching ahead like a Qunari on campaign. I paused, turned to him, and said, "I'm sorry. But I still don't have an answer. Come, let us sit and eat."

The grass was soft and fragrant, spring green staining our worn robes. I lay back, my hands crossed on my chest, staring into the canopy of the oaks above us. I really didn't want to stop. I needed to be moving. If I were honest with myself, I needed to kill something to relieve the tension. Lying there passive was an exquisite torture. Anders pulled the food from the pack that I had tossed under a tree and tried to hand me a piece of sausage. I shook my head, making no move to take the offering.

I did not realize I had fallen asleep until I awoke, the evening closing in, everything in that stillness that descends before the fall of night when the birds are quiet and the forest creatures pause. My cloak had been pulled from my pack and placed carefully over me, pinned to it, a note.

I ripped the paper from its pin and held it close to my eyes in the waining light, reading, "I am sorry that I am no longer all that I was, all that you loved. I understand. We both know that the Chantry cares about capturing me much more than you. Go to Antiva City and make a life for yourself, it is all that I could wish."

Jumping up, I grabbed the pack, hardly conscious of the action, and ran out to the road. There were no distinctive tracks I could see in the dim light, and I wasn't sure I would recognize Anders' anyway. Boots were boots were boots. No doubt his, worn as they were, had some unique markings, but I had no idea what they were.

Would he have gone on to Antiva City or back towards Kirkwall? Back I decided, probably intending to turn himself into the Templars and beg for clemency for me. I started down the road at a steady jog, determined to not stop until I found him. If he had left as soon as I feel asleep, it meant he had two, maybe three hours head start, but I was stronger and faster and more determined, at least I hoped so.

I questioned every traveler I passed, and was relieved when one finally gave a fairly accurate description of Anders' robe. Granted, it was like thousands of others, but not like thousands of others on this road this night.

It had been fully dark for several hours, but I continued on, tripping over rocks and ruts, when I saw the small glow of a fire off in the woods. I couldn't let the chance to talk to anyone go, so I made my way as quietly as possible towards the light.

I saw him just before I stepped on a twig that cracked loudly. He scampered off beyond the reach of the light. I noted the direction he took as best I could, but hoped he would come back if I called. Chasing a mage through a thicket in the dead of night was not my idea of a fun evening.

Walking into the full light of the meager fire, I stood with my hands out and called, "Come out Anders. I saw you. I need you. I can't go on without you." This surprised me. It was not what I intended to say, but my heart had overruled my brain. Again, without conscious thought, I cried, "Please. You are everything to me. Justice was nothing. Please, I love you." The long day of running seemed to drop on me like a weight as I fell to my knees, my head bowed. If he did not come, I knew I could go no further tonight, but I was determined that at first light I would be up and after him again.

It was there, while I was on my knees, that he came to me. It had been more than a few minutes since I had called out, and I had given up hope of finding him again tonight, feeling guilty that I had forced him from his fire. My head was bowed and my arms almost too exhausted to lift, when I felt a touch on my hair. The softest of touches, it could have been a bat searching for an evening's meal, but then the words, "You came."

I almost collapsed with relief, but looked up instead. Strong hands reached down and lifted me to my feet, as his arms encircled me, holding me close. "Why?" he asked. "Why did you follow me? You could have gone on to Antiva City. The Crows would be pleased to have you. The Templars and Chantry wouldn't bother once they had me. I could have saved you, if you had let me."

I pulled back a bit and turned his face so I could look into this eyes. "Anders…" I began, my voice weak and choked with emotion. I took a deep breath and said, "Anders, I would be nothing without you. I was confused when you told me of Justice's departure, but when you left, your note, it was clear to me that it is you that I love. If you could do that, without Justice, then it was not Justice that I cared for, but you. I… I don't know what to say, except that I love you, I need you, I will do everything within my power to protect you, just please, please do not leave me."

I realized that I was begging. I might as well of still been on my knees. It was not something that I would have ever imagined doing. But now, if I could do it a hundred times, a thousand times, I would, to get him back with me. All I could do was look at him, look into those golden eyes that had shared so many moments, and wait.

The corners of his mouth quirked up in that uneven way that I loved, as he said, "You are a fool, do you know that? You could have had a good life, but you choose a possessed apostate mage instead. Still, who am I to gainsay your foolish impulses? If you still want me, I am yours, as I have always been."

The sigh that exploded from me made me realize that I had been holding my breath. Even when he smiled, I wasn't sure what his answer would be and I couldn't hold him against him will. The tension broken, I started to chuckle in pure relief. In a moment we were both laughing, crying, pounding on each other's back. We were standing that way when another laugh, one utterly lacking in mirth, joined ours.

A harsh voice rang out, mocking, "Well, look what we've found, boys. Seems the information was good. Don't think these are innocent travelers, do you?" Their jeering laughter replaced ours, sending a shiver down my spine.

I didn't want to look, not now, not after all we had been through, but there, moving into the firelight, was a troop of Templars. When I thought they were all visible, I did a quick count. Ten. Not impossible odds, but not good.

The captain came up to me, taking my chin roughly in hand, and turned my head so he could see my eyes more clearly. "Umph, yes, violet. A most distinctive color. Too bad you couldn't disguise those, boy. Well, too bad for you, but good for us, huh men?"

He moved over to Anders, tweaking his nose and eliciting an indignant "Ow!" This caused the scoffing to increase as the soldiers enjoyed their leader's wit.

"A long nose and violet eyes," the captain continued. "Are you going to try to deny who you are or just come along peacefully, saving us all trouble? There's a nice headsman waiting for you, after the White Divine has questioned you of course. And after they've drawn and quartered you. The Chantry does not look kindly on apostates who blow up their Grand Clerics and expensive real estate."

A rough voice came from the shadows and a finger pointed at me, "I want to see that one's face when they cut off his friend's willy, I do. Damn apostates and their bum boys." More twittering broke out in the ranks at these sage remarks.

"Shut up, Rudger," the captain snarled, stepping back from me.

For years, Anders and I, and anyone else I fought with, had had a word that meant attack. One that was innocuous and not easy to confuse with any other. It allowed a small element of surprise. The word was 'up.' It leant itself to any number of sentences, and was particularly appropriate now.

I slowly raised my open hands to my shoulders. A gesture of surrender, but one that put them closer to the daggers strapped to my back under the robe. I was rather amazed that the captain had not attempted to search us yet, but I suppose ragged and worn as we looked, and with the superior numbers he had, he simply couldn't conceive of resistance.

Anders, of course, didn't have his staff, but he barely needed it. Unlike the weakened Circle mages the Templars were used to dealing with, those who utterly depended on their staffs to work significant magic, Anders had, for years, practiced with his hands alone. The odds were too good in battle that a staff would be taken, broken or destroyed. In learning to use only his hands, much as a warrior learns hand to hand combat, he had assured that he would never be defenseless.

As I raised my hands, the captain narrowed his eyes. It was starting to occur to him that this had all been too easy. Before he could do anything smart, I said in my most resigned tone, "You have us captain. No point in more bloodshed. We give up."

Anders, of course, knew exactly what was coming. At the last word, fireballs erupted around us and I pulled my daggers, sinking them both into the base of the captain's neck. Dodging the pyrotechnics, aided by long practice, I realized the mistake I had just made. Without their leader, and faced with the fire and ice that Anders was now throwing their way, the soldiers had scattered and run. There was nothing for it, we would need to hunt them all down.

I jumped two, felling but not finishing them, before they left the ring of light. Anders quickly ended them as I ran after another, stopping him with a thrown dagger. Running past the body, I retrieved the dagger. I was in luck, there were three of them before me who had run towards and impenetrable thicket. They now stood at bay, two with swords drawn while another worked Templar spells to counter Anders' magic. It was a good effort, but they had never encountered a true battle mage before. Before the words could leave the young solider's mouth he was frozen, then shattered into tiny crystals of ice. Understandably, this distracted his fellows and gave me the opening I needed. I was behind them before they could turn, my blades stroking their necks. They dropped like felled oxen as I sprinted back to see where our count stood.

The underbrush was burning to the right of the campfire, where Anders still stood, his brow creased in concentration. "I _think_ I got the last three," he said. He threw ice on the fire, extinguishing it, and I accepted the gruesome task of counting the charred bodies. The air smelled of burnt meat as I approached the scorched area. One of them had almost escaped, only his legs burned. He was moaning loudly through singed lungs. The other two were cinders, but clearly there were two bodies.

I ran the count quickly through my mind again, then went back to Anders, asking, "What was your initial tally?" He had better night vision than I did and I wanted to make sure that I hadn't missed any.

"Ten," he confirmed. "Very definitely only ten. Their horses can't be far, and that will verify it, but I'm sure ten."

I nodded and set out to do the task that I knew Anders would refuse. We could not leave witnesses, and it would be cruel to leave grievously wounded men here in the woods in any case. I decided on the burn victim first, he was probably in the most pain. I'm not sure why I didn't just cut his throat from behind, but something compelled me to turn him over. I wished I had not. He was only a boy. A terrified boy as he looked up at me and saw his death. He started to beg and I heard the word mother before my knife flashed down. I hated when they did that.

The captain was long gone and the two others that I had caught by the fire had been thoroughly seen to by Anders.

Walking further into the forest, I found the one that had been stopped by my throw. Apparently he had tried to rejoin the fight, for now both arms and an ankle were broken, the result of a bolt from Anders, no doubt. He was the loudmouthed fellow, and despite his condition he was still loquacious, saying against his pain, "Were all just a bit of a joke, what I said back there. You understand. Just us tough boys together, you and me, right? I'll be all right, just leave me here. Don't give it another thought."

The man could talk, and I had to admit that he was fairly brave to even attempt such a ploy, but I well remembered what he said. I snarled back, "You know what I should do to you, don't you? Yes, I think I should leave you alive, or at least most of you." I grabbed him by the waistband of his pants, and I am not proud to admit that I enjoyed his scream of terror before I mercifully cut his throat.

I was pretty sure that the last two were dead, but I checked on them anyway. It would not do to be sloppy. Yes, their throats were thoroughly opened and the large pools of their blood had mingled there on the leaf cover of the forest floor.

I dropped my hands, still holding the gory daggers, to my sides and let my head fall back. It would be a long night. Ten damn bodies to move, to hide or bury, and Anders weakened by hunger and the expenditure of his magic. It had to be done before daylight. Not only the bodies, armor and weapons hidden, but the horses found and dealt with. Then we needed to be as far away from here as we could be before the sun rose.

Before I could continue, I needed rest. Just a few moments, and some food and wine. And, I realized, I could have Anders heal me. I wasn't wounded, at least not in any major way, but his abilities could restore a measure of vitality as well as treat injuries. It made more sense for him to give his strength to me rather than to try to help with the physical work ahead.

Anticipating my needs, as he so often did, he had bread, the sausage I had refused earlier, and one of our precious dried figs laid out for me. The wine flask sat next to the small repast. As I dropped down, I said, "Anders, you must eat too. Really, if you don't you are dooming us both. Have some."

The corner of his mouth turned up and he nodded, carefully halving the small sausage and chewing on it thoughtfully. I had just finished the wine, when more laughter came from the woods. My only thought was, "What now?" I wasn't sure I had another battle in me tonight. Who would be prowling these woods so late? Whatever direction they came from, they must have noticed the bodies and blood and smelled the charred flesh, too much to be cooking.

"Tell your mage to hold his fire," a familiar voice commanded. I was so exhausted that I almost snickered at the unintentional pun. At least I assumed it was unintentional. I nodded to Anders as the Crow stepped into the firelight. Even then, backlit by the blaze, she almost merged with the night.

"I didn't get your name when last we met, or I would introduce you," I said, motioning for her to join us.

"You don't need to know my name," she replied, declining to sit. "I do come with good news, however. We will take care of the bodies and the mounts. You can continue on your way."

Spearing a piece of cheese, not bothering to look at her, I asked, "And why should I trust you? I assume that these unfortunate Templars are your doing. Tell me why my friend should not just fry you where you stand."

Her laugh was musical, a sound that I would always remember. She clapped her hands and, before I could rise, we were fenced by arrows. They made a neat circle around us, each an exact distance from the other. I had to admit, I was impressed. Fire that coordinated and accurate was something I had never encountered before.

Trying to look cool, I said, "Very well. You have friends. Talented friends. We'll just be leaving now."

"Wise," she replied, continuing, "Oh, and when you leave, step on the arrows, do not touch them with your bare skin, or even your mage will not be able to save you." Ah, one of the the famous Crow poisons I had heard so much about, no doubt.

As we stood and shouldered our packs, I was thinking that it must be Anders that they wanted. I couldn't imagine what I had to teach such accomplished assassins. The trick with the arrows and greatly deflated my ego.

I made sure the arrows were stomped flat before we crossed the low fence they had formed. As we made our way to the road, I took Anders hand in mine, saying, "I don't know how much longer we have. It seems that the game is out of our hands, even more so then before, but whatever time is left, I am glad that you're here with me." He squeezed my hand, and we walked into the fading night.


End file.
